Insubstantial
by ari2266
Summary: Set Mid-Season 10. A kidnap. A murder. Searching for answers with only one person to lean on. It's bad enough that they're stuck without answers - now they have something else to focus on. **Action mystery - leading into possible romance. Sorry for spelling mistakes - I was blitzing through this.
1. Chapter 1

"Dean! Behind you!"

He swung hard, instinctively, and felt a satisfying thrum along the blade as he beheaded the vamp running at his back. He turned his head quickly, eyeing the corners of the barn as Sam found his feet.

"That was not what I had in mind when you said 'milk run'" Sam puffed, winded from his duel with two seriously amped up blood suckers. His face was bruised, and there was a gash across his cheekbone that was slowly seeping blood down his jawbone. Same stared at his brother, clearly put out by his 'running in half-cocked' attitude that nearly got them killed – again.

Dean turned back to face him, eyes clearly not focusing, and his thoughts elsewhere. Then, like a switch had been flipped, he stared Sam straight in the eyes, and a shit eating grin stretched across his face.

"Ah, c'mon, Sammy – what's a milk run without a little monster hunting?" Dean had blood splatter on his neck and across his nose, but he seemed as happy as a ten year old on wiz fizz. Sam wasn't so sure it wasn't an act – the Mark of Cain was affecting his brother in ways he couldn't understand, and sometimes, Sam would catch Dean staring off into space, his eyes blank and dead.

Sam shook his head, took a deep breath and huffed out a laugh, playing along with Dean's good mood

"Well, to be clear – a milk run without monster hunting would be a trip to the store for milk – without hunting monsters. Or possibly monsters that you choose not to hunt. Though why-"

'THANKS Cas." Dean exclaimed loudly, cutting off the angel before he got started. Castiel stared at Dean, silently understanding that he had said something incorrect, though not quite sure what.

Same turned around, feet skidding in the hay of the barn, "Good to see you haven't lost your touch, Cas – but you could have come in with us, instead of waiting in the car?"

Castiels' gaze drifted up to Sam, blue eyes piercing in the darkness. "I didn't think there'd be too much trouble here." His eyebrows twitched into a frown "Vampires and milk did sound like a strange combo, though."

Sam bit back a grin, knowing he'd just confuse his friend. After a small confused facial twitch, Dean chose to ignore the conversation and proceeded to head out of the musty barn and into the clear night air that surrounded the small Nebraskan farm they'd just invaded.

Baby was parked out the front, roof gleaming in the light of the quarter moon, rims muddied from their trek across the farmlands to their quarry. Dean popped to trunk, and pulled out an old cleaning rag from the pile in the back right hand corner. Sam soon came up beside him, and borrowed the rag for his own machete. Cas stood quietly away from them, staring out across the tree tops of the nearby woods, thoughts concealed behind his stoic, yet wondering gaze.

Dean wasn't fooled.

Dropping his machete in it's holder back in the trunk, he reached into the backseat for the cooler and extracted two beers, water beading off them as he popped the tops. He handed one to Sam, who leaned against the back of the open trunk and took a moment to reflect on the hunt, while Dean walked over to Castiel, one hand in his pocket, the other raising his beer to his lips. Taking a swig, and finishing with a heart 'h-aah', he looked at his trenchcoated companion, and stated the demand he wasn't sure he wanted answered.

"Talk to me Cas."

The dark haired angel tilted his head towards Dean, but didn't take his eyes off whatever had captured his gaze over the treetops.

"I'm worried about you, Dean." His voice was husky, deep, and Dean flinched a little, avoiding the urge to roll his eyes. Cas was always worried about him – he and Sammy needed to start a diary together – 'The Worries we have about Dean – by Sam and Cas.' He could see it in one of those Supernatural Fanfic sites that Becky wrote to.

Dean took another sip of his beer, allowing himself time to sound sincere

"There's nothing to worry about, man – I'm fine. Just killed me some Vamps, and we'll be home in time for breakfast. I'm good."

Castiels eye's snapped to Deans face, studying him intently. Dean wanted to squirm, wanted to smile and turn his gaze away with a laugh – but he knew Cas would be onto him. So instead, he held his gaze, proving his words were true.

The angel turned away first, his eyes flashing in the dark, frowning slightly.

Dean brought his beer up, paused, glancing at his friend, then tipped back his head and finished the bottle in several short gulps. He held the bottle up, and yelled out to Sam to get the shovels – it was time to bury the bodies.


	2. Chapter 2

The drive back to the bunker was quiet, Sammy slept against the passenger door, while Castiel stared out the window, apparently lost in thought – whatever it was angels thought about. Dean was relaxed, hands in a loose grip on the wheel, eyes focused on the straight, black line ahead of him. Straight and narrow, only one road to follow – no distractions, no detours – just the road. Why couldn't it always be that simple? The apocalypse, the leviathans, the Mark of Cain. And of course, the death. The endless, bloody, savage, cruel death that followed him everywhere he went.

"Dean?"

He took a small breath, concentration broken at Castiels murmer. He was being quiet, trying not to wake Sam.

"Yeah, Cas?" He kept his voice equally low

"You missed the exit to the bunker."

Deans eyes widened, shifting from side to side as he cursed under his breath. He slowed the impala down to roll and made a wide U-turn, pulling back to the correct course home. Sam shifted in his seat, but didn't wake. Dean exhaled, annoyed at himself, then settled back into the drive.

"Were you distracted?"

That same murmur from the back seat, this time closer to his ear – Cas must have slid across the leather when the cur turned.

"No, Cas – I just wasn't paying attention." Dean mumbled, trying to end the conversation and restore the peaceful quiet of the car.

It didn't work.

"Not paying attention and being distracted can both cause an accident while driving. Are you sure you're fine?"

This again! How many times did he have to reassure these people that he was perfectly ok?

"I'M-" he began, several decibels louder than intended, "-fine" he finished in a frustrated whisper.

"If you say so."

Dean shifted in his seat, edgy with the constant questions – it's like they _wanted_ him to be damaged. He tensed, waiting for the next question to come at him – but he was greeted with silence.

Uncomfortable silence.

Dena grimaced, and ground his teeth, trying to keep his voice low as he hissed over his shoulder, trying to keep his eyes on the road;

"What do you want me to say, Cas? That I'm angry? That I'm worried about the future? Want me to talk about my _feelings_? Sit down and have a little coombaya with a box of Kleenex? Well that's not me, man." He threw his head back around, determined to stare his way home.

"I know that Dean." Came that same murmur from the back seat.

"Well stop asking then."

Silence.

The rest of the drive home was filled quiet unrest.

There were no windows at the men of letters bunker – no natural light to tell what time of day it was. So, when Dean woke up, and checked his watch to see it was 11:00am – he breathed out a groan of frustration, hand covering his face. How had he slept eight hours? Usually his internal alarm would have him up at dawn, energized and ready for coffee. But today, he felt sluggish, doped.

Pulling his clothes on, one stiff limb at a time, he made his way in to the central atrium and the kitchen, fully intending to put on a fresh pot of super rich, double strength espresso – the type that could wake the dead and keep hunters going for 24 hours with no rest. He shivered as he walked, and wondered why on earth he made the decision to leave his room with no shoes on. He turned the final corner, and stopped, surprised by the sudden silence that filled the halls.

"Sammy?" He called, voice echoing slightly off the domed ceiling. He scuffed his way to the kitchen, poking his head in, "Cas?" Louder this time, waiting for an answer. Nothing . There wasn't even the subtle echo of wind that made it feel like there was more than just emptiness and memories filling the halls. Dean shrugged, and fully entered the kitchen – he had a mission that he fully intended to fulfill.

Coffee.

Twenty minutes passed, and he was sitting quietly in the atrium, reading an old document on the Men of Letters founding members.

"Dean?" The quiet voice called from the top entrance door. He looked up, fully intending to see Sam or Cas standing there with a newspaper or breakfast burrito – something to explain their absence.

"Guys? Sammy, is that you?" He said, raising his voice to be heard. He got up and bounced up the stairs, one hand on the rail. Unlocking the steel door, he swung it open, and stood there expectantly, looking for Sam or Cas standing there.

There was no-one there.

Dean frowned, not up for practical jokes before breakfast.

"Guys – C'mon, where are you?" He shouted out, body shifting into a defensive position. Was this some kind of joke? What was the point? His eyes shifted, spotting movement in the woods.

"Hey! Who's out there?" He shouted again, noticing branches sway as something rustled in the underbrush. He reached inside the door, eyes never leaving the tree line, as he picked up the sawn off shotgun leaning against the inner frame.

He took a careful step outside, instantly regretting not putting on his boots, and checking all around himself for traps. Seeing that he was clear, he walked up the few steps to the front drive, rounded the impala and put the gun to his shoulder as he looked out in to the woods. He saw a figure in the bushes off to the left, and aimed carefully.

"I don't know what you're playing at, but if you have the will to live, you better have the legs to get the hell out of here." He called out, loud enough to make himself heard. There was no reply, but the bush rustled again.

Dean did not have the patience for games. Rushing over in a quick, military crouch, he stood over the hedges and pointed his gun down in a quick scare tactic. Hi seye's widened in shock at the scene before him. "Holy SHIT - Cas!" He cried out, dropping the gun, and instantly scaring off the crow that had been pecking at his neck, and causing the bushes to rustle. The bird flew off, cawing loudly as Dean jumped down beside his friend, and began shaking him swiftly, but gently.

"Cas! CAS! Wake up man – what the hell happened? Cas! Can you hear me? CAS!" The angels face was scratched almost beyond recognition, his clothes were torn and bloody, and the crow had created a large hole in his neck, where fresh blood was pumping out at an alarming rate. The angel was fully unconscious, but alive. Dean didn't waste any time, he pulled off his flannel over shirt and pressed to Castiels neck, fumbling to hold it in place as he attempted to lift him from under his arms, and drag him back to the bunker.

Ten minutes later, they were back in the atrium, Castiel was laid out on the central table and Dean was rummaging in the first aid kit for bandages. His mind worked furiously: Angels couldn't get beat up this badly without picking a fight with a serious enemy – if the vessel died from blood loss, did the angel die too? Where the hell was Sam? Did they have enough bandages? What could have done this? There was no sulfur smell – no dark smudges in the wounds… what HAPPENED?

Dean finished cleaning and dressing the serious lacerations, before focusing his attention on the facial scratches that were scabbing over, still crusted with dirt. He was pretty sure that when Cas recovered (not if, _when_ ) he could get rid of any scarring from dirt encrusted wounds. But, if they became infected – that could slow his healing process down pretty significantly.

Dean sighed, resigning himself to the fact that he was about to wash Cas's face – and he felt slightly resistant to doing so. Working quickly, he used a clean cloth in warm water mixed with disinfectant to carefully wipe away the dried blood and dirt that marred his features. Dean hadn't really touched Cas like this before, so, he kept it professional - he was careful, but thorough. He was just finishing the gash above the left eyebrow, when Castiel shifted his head, and grunted low in his throat. Dean sighed in relief, dropping his head and smiling to himself.

"Cas – you really scared me, man."

The angel groaned again, eyelids fluttering open, and blinking quickly against the bright white light that radiated from the ceiling. His head turned slowly from side to side, and he grimaced, attempting to up. Dean surged forward

"Hey, whoa there cheesecake – you're torn up pretty bad. Stay down for a bit – tell me what happened? Where's Sam?" His voice was a little panicked, a little rough.

Castiel coughed once, eyebrows twitching in a wince, before licking his lips and clearing his throat.

"They got him Dean-"


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel coughed once, eyebrows twitching in a wince, before licking his lips and clearing his throat.

"They got him Dean-"

"Who got him?"

"I don't know – I was trapped in holy fire. Something fell on me, and when I got up, there were dark figures stabbing me with pikes from outside the ring of fire. I think I passed out after about an hour." He coughed again, blood blooming across his teeth, Dean handed him a glass of water, a silent encouragement to continue. Cas sipped the water, cleared his throat and tried again.

"When I woke up the fire was out – my vessel was broken, so I walked until I fell down outside." Cas took a deep breath and stared at dean from under his lashes. "I don't know where they took Sam."

Deans face turned as hard as marble, his jaw clenched and his eyes became shards of green crystal.

"What were you doing outside anyway? We only just got back this morning." His voice was deep, angry, and Cas knew he was using all his strength to stay calm.

"Sam wanted to go for a run – I was heading out to be on my way back to the highway, so I offered to join him. We couldn't have been more than a mile down the road when we were attacked. They were all dressed in black, but they were human shaped." He grimaced in pain, then closed his eyes to begin using his grace to heal himself.

Dean watched as Castiels wounds began to close, his bruises began to heal, and even his clothes began to mend themselves. He was happy Cas was ok, but now he knew the story, he was itching to get out there and find Sammy. He stood suddenly, and strode out of the room intent on finding his shoes, and getting his 'kill kit'.

A few minutes later, they were in the impala, tyres kicking up dust as they headed towards town – the direction Sam was last seen. Dean rationalized that even if they were only a mile away, they probably had a good 2 hour lead, and in a vehicle – that meant they could be in the next state by now.

"Dean – pull over here. That scorched patch there is where they got me, and cuffed Sam."

Dean slammed on the breaks, throwing the angel forward into the dashboard, and earning him a long sideways glance. The hunter refused to look at the angel, and rushed out of the car to investigate the scene of the kidnapping. Blood. Some burnt earth in a wide circle. More blood. A broken pike with a bloody blade. And… wait – what was that?

Dean narrowed his eyes and crouched down to the small pile of dirt that lay conspicuously out of place amongst the scene. He brushed the top layer aside to reveal Sams silver blade – the one he used on shapeshifters and werewolves. He picked it up and turned it over, hoping there was a clue along the knife edge.

Nothing. The blade was a clean as when it was first cast.

"Find anything?" Cas called out, sticking by the car to avoid Deans investigation, and anger.

"Nothing useful." Dean replied, holding up the blade by the tip. Cas grimaced, and got back into the car. Looks like this was not going to be easy. With no motive, no clues and no idea where to look next – he began to get very worried. Surely a kidnap victim would be worth more alive than dead? He was so caught up in his thoughts that he jumped when Dean got back into the car.

"They knew about the holy fire, which means they knew about me," Cas growled, angry to have been caught off-guard. "And a kidnapping would mean a ransom note – did you receive anything?" When Dean just shook his head, the angels frown deepened. "Perhaps they were after food?..." He cut himself off as Dean glanced his way, throwing a murderous glare.

"Look, Cas, Sammy ain't no weakling, and he sure as hell knows how to fight monsters. So the question remains – how the hell did they get the jump on him? Nobody knows the location of the bunker – it's secrets have secrets. So how, huh? Answer me that!" His voice rose to a roar and Cas stared back at him, eyes glinting in reprimand.

"It's not my fault he's gone, Dean." Cas rumbled. Dean looked at him furiously, then swung around and headed back to the car. The angel paused before following, hesitant to get into the car with the man. Once they were back on the road, Dean started to calm, his mind ticking away.

"Look, Cas – I'm sorry. I know it's not your fault." Dean eventually said, eyes forward, hands gripping the wheel.

Castiel turned his head to look at the hunter, face pensive. "I forgive you, Dean." His gaze wandered back to the road. Dean stole a glance across the passenger seat, Cas seemed firm – more like the soldier he'd first met than the friend he'd come to know. He had strong, expressive features, and Dean was able to see clearly whether he was happy, angry, offended, nervous, or concerned. Right now, all he saw was avid concentration. It suited him.

"Where do we go from here?" That voice rumbled again, like thunder in the car.

"We head to town. If these dick bags took Sammy for ransom, or bait, they would have been staying nearby – and the only town around here ain't that big. Somebody must have seen something."

Cas nodded in agreement as they entered the small town and headed straight for the local motel – the most likely place to start searching for suspicious drifting travelers. The car park was half full when they pulled in, a scantily dressed blonde woman stood by the vending machine, twitching her hips as she texted on her phone – not even looking in their direction.

Dean headed straight for the office, Cas in tow, intending to ask the manager about any strange guest that had stayed. But after fifteen minutes of questions, authority and bribery – it became obvious that no-one meeting their description had been staying.

"Well that was a bust." Dean huffed angrily, exiting the office with a slam. He was about to stride back to the car, when he took another look at the woman by the vending machine. Hooker, obviously – but maybe she'd seen something. Cas followed behind him, curious as to why he was approaching this woman with a swaggering gait.

She looked up as they approached, putting her phone in her faux fox fur jacket, and flashing them both a wide grin. "Hey there, handsome." She began, pushing away from the vending machine, and sweeping her long hair off her face. Dean noticed that her blue minidress looked a little worn, and her cowboy boots were more scuffed than a bronco rider. Her hair had looked blonde at first glance, but on closer inspection, it was a terrible dye job, with dark brown and gray roots poking through. Still she was pretty, in a tired kind of way – like a piece of fine art in a bad frame.

He coughed nervously, and smiled at her in a suggestive way. "Hey beautiful," He began, using all his charm, "My – uh – friend and I, here, we're hoping you could give us some info…"

Her eyes flicked over to Castiel, who was watching the exchange with interest. Her grin widened.

" Well, sugar, usual rate for a group job is $500 for the hour, but seeing as he's such a cutie, I'll give you a discount - $450." She waited expectantly, running her tongue over her lips as she eyes Deans torso.

Dean blinked, a huffed a laugh and a half smile, before shifting his body in an amused way, "No, you don't get it – what was your name?"

Her smile dropped by half, and her hazel eyes took on a flinty glare. "I'm Angel, and what's not to get? $450 boys – or stop wasting my time." Cas blinked at the name, and shifted his feet uncomfortably.

Dean tried for charm again, "Listen, Angel, we're just after some info about some drifters who've passed through here lately. Have you seen anything… strange around here lately?" He asked, hopefully. When Angel said nothing, Dean sighed, and pulled a fifty dollar note from his pocket. Her eyes stayed flinty, but she snatched the note, and wrapped her arms around herself.

"I seen a lot of strange stuff lately – but, yeah, there was a group of guys who passed by here two nights ago. They drove this big grey SUV – they weren't no drifters, but they sure weren't staying long. I saw them the next night at Kingstons – that's the bar I work at on weekends."

"How many were there? Did they say anything? Approach anyone?" Dean asked quickly

Angels eyes darted from side to side, nervous "About 8 - They didn't say anything – but some local johns approached them – told them they were sitting in the wrong seats. Gary – one of the locals - was pretty wasted, and tried to shove his way in. Nobody saw what really happened – but one second everything was winding up to a fight, and the next, Gary is lying on the floor with a broken arm, and the new comers are leaving a $100 tip and a 'sorry' to Chad – he runs the place." She paused for a sec, her voice trembling. "I don't know what kind of military or special forces dudes they were – but it was like something out of a movie. Like Jackie Chan or something."

Dean nodded, thanked Angel, and began walking back towards the car. He stopped and turned when he noticed Cas wasn't following him. Angel was leaning in, whispering something in his ear, Cas was shaking his head and murmuring back to her. Dean coughed loudly, grinning at his friend as he looked up, said something to the woman, then headed back to the car. Angel, for her part, began walking out of the parking lot and toward town, not looking back.

"So," Dean said, with a shit-eating grin, over the top of the car, "what more did 'Angel' have to tell you?"

Castiel looked confused, but answered honestly. "She said she didn't want any trouble – but that she was scared. She asked if I could come to her room to stay with her for a while. I told her I couldn't, because we were looking for someone. Then she said 'pro-boner'," Dean choked a laugh, "And I just said I had to go – that she should get out of town if she was scared." Cas got in the car without a second glance. Dean whistled silently, laughing in his head as he got behind the wheel and started the car.

"You know she was flirting with you, right?" He said, face twitching, hand on the brake.

Castiel glanced at Dean uncomfortably, "I understand flirting Dean. But that wasn't flirting – she was offering sex. I wasn't interested." He adjusted his coat, and stared out the passenger window.

Deans grin faltered as he pulled the car out of the parking lot to head to town. "Not interested? Cas, it's not like you've had a heck of experience with… these matters. After we find Sammy, you and I should have a little howl at the moon, you know? Head out on the town."

The angels lips pulled up at the sides, a small smile that held a world of happiness, "I'd like that."

Dean smiled to himself, and filed the conversation away for something to do after this whole fiasco was resolved. For now. It was time to find Sammy.

The bar was tidy, in a hometown kind of way, wooden stools, several pool tables, and an old 60's juke box. Dean instantly felt at home. He walked up to the bar and greeted Chad, asking him about the events of the previous evening. There wasn't much more to it that what Angel had already told them – but Chad could give them Gary's address. Perhaps the local had seen something before his arm was broken. Fangs? Claws? Black eyes? Something.

Arriving at Gary's house, Dean immediately noticed the broken fence across the front yard, in a street that was practically the PTA's wet dream. There was also blood spots leading up the house. No so dreamy. Dean pulled his handgun, and cautiously approached the house. The front door was open slightly – he eased it all the way, and crept through, gun up.

"Gary Vartel," He called loudly, as Cas closed the door behind himself - no point in scaring the neighbors. The two of them crept around the house, following the spattered blood trail. Entering the kitchen, they found him. Tied spread-eagled, face up on the kitchen bench, a pool of blood crusted around him, and his chest cavity and throat ripped open, organs spilling out over the counter.

Dean holstered his gun at the sight of the cold body, and moved quickly to inspect. Castiel roamed the house, searching for further clues. He found a small pile of sulfur by the back door, and several sets of claw marks. He reported back to Dean, who advised him with a grimace that Gary's heart, liver and kidneys were missing.

Castiel looked confused. "What kind of monster eats those organs?"

"I don't know – but I'm wondering why they came back to finish him at all. Sounds like they were trying to keep a low profile at the bar – why would they mess that up now?" Dean looked frustrated – until Castiel pointed out something on the dead mans arm. It wasn't blood splatter – it was-

"Writing." Dean murmured, pulling up the sleeve to read the full message.

 _This is your brother in 24 hours. Grantston Park._

Cas frowned at the message, and glanced at Dean. His face was a mask of calm fury. The angel wasn't sure that he himself would be safe, if the elder Winchester came after him in that mood.

"Dean – do we know what these things are? We have to assume we're walking into a trap."

"Of course we're walking into a trap, genius. But if Sammy's the bait – there's no question."

"But Dean-"

"Shuttup,Cas. I said we're going in. You got a problem with that, I can drop you off right here."

There was a stony silence. Dean wouldn't give, and Castiel couldn't convince him to wait.

"This isn't the first time we've done this Cas – so sack up, and get your mojo ready to gank these sons of bitches." He yanked the wheel, turning the Impala down the dirt track towards the farm. The sun was just dipping below the horizon as they pulled up in front of a dilapidated old farm house and free standing barn.

Cas exited the car, anger simmering in his face. Dean ignored him and got out to pop the trunk open. He selected his rock salt sawn off, machete, .45 with devils traps on the cartridges, two clips of standard silver bullets and a holy water flask. Slamming the trunk slightly harder than usual, he walked past the angel, not looking him in the eye as he grunted, "Let's do this."

The barn was an old, double story hay bale build. The faded wood held thumbprints of red paint that flaked off in the light twilight breeze. They walked forward confidently, Castiel slightly behind Dean, watching his back. The barn door was open just enough for them to shoulder through, and the hunter pushed in, shotgun aimed, taking in the entire space in a moment.

Silence.

There was a dust mote floating across the fading light coming from the overhead level. Old, dusty straw, long devoid of mold lay strewn across the dirt floor, clearly showing the set of fresh foot prints that Dean followed. The trail ended at the back corner of the barn, where a large figure lay slumped over, legs at an awkward angle.

"Sammy!" Dean yelled, rushing over into a crouch, dragging off the burlap sack that was over his head. He gripped the sides of Sams face and shook him, calling his name to no result.

"Cas – get over here and do your angel thing!" Deans voice was panicked, he noticed the large wounds on Sams chest, and bruises across his face, and rage took over. He was going to find whatever did this. And he was going to rip it apart with his bare hands.

Castiel shouldered Dean to the side and leaned down to press two fingers to Sam forehead. There was a pause, and the angel frowned, concentrating harder. His eyes glowed blue, and his hand began to emit a bright light. Dean looked at Castiel worriedly, "Hey – don't blow him up or anything, Cas…"

The light became arced and painful, thunder rumbled in the now pitch black barn, and lightning struck the sky outside, throwing Deans face into sharp relief. His eyes widened as he watched great, shadowed wings reach across the barn walls as Castiel called on his true power. It always took him by surprise – the true form of what lay inside their naïve, trench coated friend. He seemed so serious, so earnest – but also inexperienced. Dean often forgot that Castiel was thousands of year old with the way he understood the world, but there was no mistaking that when the sense of power flowed off him like honey.

The light began to fade, and the angel lowered his hand, breathing out heavily. Sam's eyes remained closed. Dean looked from Sam to Cas and back again, expectantly – this was usually the part where the hurt person bounced up fresh as a daisy.

"What the hell, Cas?!"

Castiel lifted his gaze to Deans face, sadness and confusion painted across it.

"I can't wake him up-"

"What are you talking about, man? What – is y- is your mojo broken or something? Fix him!"

"Dean – he's alive, but there's something prevent my grace from entering his mind. It's like there's a wall, or a – "Cas paused and took a step back, shock in his eyes. "It's a sigil."

"A sigil? What kind of sigil – what are you talking about?" Dean had his arms out, confused.

Cas turned fully towards him and spoke to him in his frank, and exasperated manner, "It's an angel warding sigil, Dean. A protection. To stop angels from possessing his body, or… " He stuttered, that confused look back on his face, "…to stop an angels grace from repairing damage – though I've never heard of sigils being used like that before. It's similar to the branding I put on your ribs to hide you both from being located." His eyebrows twitched back into a frown. "It feels like he's behind a glass wall – my power can see him, but keeps sliding away." He waved a hand for emphasis.

Dean couldn't accept that explanation.

"Well? Then where's the sigil? I'll carve it off him if I have to." His voice was rough with concern and anger. He crouched back down beside Sam and started shifting him into a more transportable position.

"Dean – it's not on him physically," Dean grunted with effort as he pulled Sam across the barn floor. "It's in his mind. Whatever did this to him has trapped him in his own mind – and it's there that the sigil is powerful. He can block me as long as he believes it's real."

"Well," _puff,_ "We make him," _huff_ "Believe it's NOT real." He stopped, panting, and looked at the angel expectantly. Cas just stared at him.

"You gonna give me a hand here?" Dean said, speaking to him like he was a child. Castiel twitched and hurried over to get Sam's feet, as they lifted him outside, and into the back seat of the impala.

"Whatever's going on, we need to get back to the bunker, and find answers." Dean hurried behind the wheel and started the car, face grim.

"That was too damn easy."


	4. Chapter 4

_"_ _Found anything yet, Sammy?"_

 _Sam shook his head, raising both hands to rub his eyes and sweep back his hair. He gave Dean a tired look, and accepted the beer he was being handed._

 _"_ _Nothing yet – but I've only just started on the 'Early Curses of Pre-Roman aristocracy' series. It's 8 volumes."_

 _Dean fell into his chair opposite his brother, and raised his longs legs to rest on the work table. He leant back and stared as his brother - searching his face. "You know we're probably not going to find anything here, right?"_

 _Sam glanced up at Dean before focusing back on his book. "Maybe – but we've gotta try. That thing can't stay on your arm, Dean. It's changing you."_

 _Dean just stared at the roof, ignoring him. "Is that such a bad thing?" He mused._

 _The younger Winchester just glared at his brother, until Dean met his eyes with a calm, scary look. "There's nothing you can do Sammy. There ain't nothing in those books."_

 _Sam huffed out a frustrested, angry laugh, shookhis head, and delved back into his reading._

 _Unseen to him, Dean smirked, eyes glowing blue._

"Sir – the angel and the older Winchester have taken the bait."

"Good. I want updates every hour. Tell Travis to move to stage 3."

"Yes Sir."

Everything was going according to plan.

3:00am rolled around, and they still couldn't wake Sam. They'd patched him up, checked him for bites and put him in his room until they could figure out what was going on.

"Would demon possession work?" Dean asked Cas, thinking of Crowley.

"No. This sigil is powerful – whoever put it in Sams mind doesn't want any interference. We need to find another way to get through to him."

"This whole thing stinks, Cas." Dean growled, suddenly slamming his hands on the table in frustration. The wood splintered slightly under the pressure – another sign that Dean wasn't fully in control.

"I mean, someone just kidnaps him, threatens us that he'll die, then _leads_ us to find him? Then, when we get there – he's unconscious, and… that's it? Where's the payoff? Where's the part where they gamble for something using Sam as leverage? This doesn't make any sense!" He finally snapped, flipping the heavy table easily, as Cas looked on in trepidation.

"Maybe they're using him to make you mad – to make you lash out and agitate the Mark?" Dean scowled, staring at the floor. Cas took a few quick steps forward and gripped his upper left arm "If that's the case, you're playing right into they're hands, Dean. You need to calm down." His blue eyes were piercing, and Dean found himself staring back unashamedly. His mind went blank as they locked eyes, sharing a moment of support. He raised his right hand and place it over Cas's own, on his bicep.

Dean looked away first, tossing his head down, and stepping away, "Maybe you're right, Cas. But that seems like a pretty pointless plan. Even if I became what the Mark wants me to be because of this – that would just make me even more of a threat to them." He began walking backwards towards the corridor to Sams room, "There's something else happening here -" he stuttered, not looking Cas in the eye, "-with Sam." Cas tilted his head slightly.

"Anyway – I'm going to go keep an eye on him, in case he wakes up and can tell us what the hell happened." Dean strode off down the corridor, not exactly sure what he was doing at all.

 _"_ _Sammy…"_

 _Back pressed to the wall, Sam tried to slow his breathing to avoid detection. Sweat trickled down his hairline as he attempted to rationalize what was happening._

 _It had all started so suddenly. They had been sitting quietly in the atrium, scouring the books, when Dean snapped, stood up from his chair and stomped to the kitchen. Sam was relatively used to these little tantrums without a cause, so he ignored it._

 _That was, until Dean returned with the hammer._

 _"_ _Dean… what are you doing?" Sam asked, slowly pulling his chair away from the table._

 _"_ _Just finishing what I started a few weeks ago. C'mon, Sammy, make it easy on yourself. Put your head right here." He patted the table using the hammer._

 _Sam didn't try to argue. This whole scenario had happened before – he knew the score. Pushing off from his chair, he bolted for the corridor. Dean followed behind at a swift stride, calm, eager. Deadly._

 _But this time, there was no Cas to hold him back. No angel watching out for him. This time, there was only Sam, Dean and the hammer._

 _Sam risked a peek around the corner, trying to locate his brother. A large hand whipped around the wall and gripped Sams throat, tight enough to crush his windpipe. Sam thre his hands up the grasp the arm, as Dean curled around the corner, using his superior strength to push Sam up the wall by his neck . Sam's shoes left the floor, and he chocked, trying to call Dean's name in vain._

 _Dean stared at Sam, a cruel visage ranging across his face. He raised the hammer, and flipped it around to the pronged edge._

 _"_ _I've been waiting too long for this, brother."_

 _He swung, digging the hammer prongs deep into Sams chest, and pulled back, ripping a chunk of flesh from his left pectoral. Sam screamed around his constricted throat, pain and fear morphing his features. Dean leant back to admire his work, and a small smile crept up his face._

 _"_ _Oh, Sammy," He crooned, staring his brother directly in his pain filled eyes, "We're just getting started…"_

Rounding the hall towards Sam's room, he was running before the first scream ended.

"Sammy!" He roared, bursting into the room, and stopping in shocked horror at the sight on the bed.

His brother was laying flat on the bed, one hand wrapped around his throat, as the other tore at his chest. His fingers bloody as he dug deeper and deeper into his own flesh with nothing but his fingernails, opening up all of his wounds. Dean surged over to Sam, using all his strength to pull Sam's hands away from his body, while yelling for Castiel. He lost his grip on the right hand for a moment, and it flew to the left bicep, scratching, cutting, trying to tear itself off. Sam screamed again, eyes still closed.

Cas flew into the room, taking precious seconds to size up the situation. He ripped off his tie and used it secure Sams right arm to the bedpost. Dean used his own weight and pushed Sams left arm above his head, as Cas ran over with a belt he grabbed off the desk. They both stood back and waited for whatever horror Sam was living to cease. As suddenly as it appeared, it ceased, and the giant on the bed calmed, his shoulders stilling, his features calm.

He was still fully unconscious.

"Stage 3 is completed, Sir."

"Excellent – how far did it proceed before he was physically restrained?"

"Only a minute or two, sir. But we can confirm there was some damage inflicted."

"Hmmm… that's not as long as I would have liked… but no matter. Sam Winchesters pain alone is not the final goal here. Initiate stage 4 – and report to me once it has been triggered."

"Yes, Sir."

Dean gave a wide, sideways glance at Castiel, "What the hell just happened?"

Castiel stared directly at Sam, his voice low and panting slightly, "I have no idea. He looked like he was trying to tear himself apart."

Dean nodded, in agreement, and exited the room, calling over his shoulder in an exhausted voice, "I'm getting the first aid kit. Keep an eye on him." The angel nodded, frowning, and stepped closer to the bed.

Castiel couldn't touch his mind, he couldn't heal his wounds, but he could watch over him. He noticed the blood slowly seeping from his chest and left bicep, and he grimaced in sympathy. When Sam woke up, he was going to be in pain – but at least when he woke up, whatever sigil he was holding onto in his mind would be gone, which would allow Castiel to heal him. He laid a hand on Sams restrained arm, a silent promise that he would make things well.

Glowing threads lifted from the skin on Sams arm the moment the angel touched him. They moved like lightening, wrapping around Castiels wrist, and binding him to Sam. He let out a cry – they burned like acid – and felt sharp, icy fingers reaching for his mind. He shielded his thoughts, as he'd been trained, and tugged on his wrist, trying ineffectually to free himself from the power of the threads.

He yelled in pain, as the fingers tore into his mind shields, rending, ripping, trying to destroy his barriers. He resisted, reinforced his walls, and focused on trying to free himself from whatever spell had a hold on him. Thinking quickly, he pulled his angel blade, and sliced down at the glowing strings, cutting through them like butter.

Suddenly, the icy fingers were gone, the pain had disappeared, and Castield stumbled backwards, breathing heavily and bleeding from his nose. What _was_ that?

Seconds later, Dean sped into the room, coming to an abrupt halt at the sight of Cas, bloody on his face, and angel blade in hand, standing slightly away from Sams body. Sam was already bloodied from his episode only minutes previously, so he couldn't identify if any further harm had come to him. He looked at Castiel from under his lashes, fists lightly clenched around the bandages he'd brought for Sam.

"What's going on, Cas?" Deans voice was rough, primal.

"Dean, I-"

"I'm gone for thirty seconds, Sam starts yelling again, and you pull a blade on him?!" He flowed forward like a wave of anger, dropping the bandages and gripping Cas's wrist as he pushed him against the far wall, his forearm across the angels throat. He stares into Castiels eyes – his gaze is blank, dark and frightening.

"You give me one reason I shouldn't kill you right here and now." His voice guttered like a dying flame.

Castiel choked, a strangled sound emerged as he used his free hand to try and hold back Deans crushing forearm.

"Please, Dean!" _cough_ "It was" _choke_ "me" _gasp_ "who yelled!"

Dean didn't move, didn't release the pressure from his neck. "So why did you yell?" He uttered, voice deep and condemning

The angel choked again, "JIN!"


End file.
